This blade hardened on cold indifference
rages around the flaws of your bootleg life
‘face to face how do you handle timeout …’
you’re just another hassle in the vague
you turn the spotlight on the saddest part,
in a domain of victory over nothing
you’re a hero but only by accident ...

For those who say ‘never like you’ but in the end are just like everyone else
for those who hide their conventionality behind yet another façade
for those who never stand up except when they’re posing
and sink into the hackneyed sense of protection of normality,
reactions hammered into the middle way.

When façade personality comes into play
when collective boredom diminishes every instinct to the rank of pretext
you feel the echo of the end grow from within, it’s up to you to push it away,
it teaches you that only the weak forgive – in dead times that betray
never pull back to a vulnerable spot, never let go
… and don’t stop.

Force fighting against fate
like an obsessive recurring nightmare
a beam of ashes that distorts your face
the constant that won’t ever bring us close (x 2)

[MEMORY OF PAIN]
From an abandoned neighbourhood
intersection of disconnected roads,
unnatural cold among shut-down stores and random passers-by avoiding each other
what sense of belonging
there aren’t enough memories of better times to feel in command,
the fact is that I don’t want to see you here
beyond the origins a simple sensation:
you have one less reason than me to be there.
You have to leave or die.

From the bars of their windows freedom is far away
as if I’d been dreaming my whole life, now I’m awake and it’s all clear,
this is my place, but my people aren’t here now.
A bell tolls out panic among destroyed cemeteries, houses torn apart
A foreign claw gives directions, keeps us all in its sights
wants to tear even the last coin from the poorest
pierce the ground to torment the bones of my ancestors,
sell the relics of my saints.
It’s an accusation promoted to judge… ‘let them kill one another’
there’s nothing left for me, no words that can express pain,
only an extinct species that survives through gestures
of entities never defeated that rise up despite the wounds.

I think of those who really have been invaded
those who still say ‘nobody can know what the wind will bring’
looking at the rubble of demolished centuries
under my sky I grip this rancour
be it the last pool dehydrated by boredom and induced exhaustion
at its roots there’s something you don’t even notice
and the last tear invokes...
here your day will never come.

PS:
On the way back, I’ll wait on the bridge to see who comes by at the end
if necessary, blood will close the story.

Dead that no one buries
trials for a new level of abuse
crap of the average consumer
the flow that hijacks our every step into the void

What’s left is desolation
but it doesn’t make sense to realize it
it’s the weight of survival
how much you spend / how much you can cost
you’re more of a benefit when you’re sick
or as a lever to control others ...
absorbed by the monotony of a part
or worn down in the mass of the increasingly lonely.

Whatever role you have
will never redeem you

You don’t see them
they’re hands that writhe among the shelves of a point of waste
immobile columns that clog / even without reason /
‘the exit day’
fading into the social projection of an ever-smaller ego
mindless memories
snapshots of aggregation as unidentifiable shreds,
in now ageless carnage

… ‘unidentifiable shreds’
under a truck twisting across
faces, bones and blood that fuse
in the banner of incomprehensible motives

Hunted down by modern lepers,
stagnant sores in its watered-down grey
you glue a brand that’s scrawnier than ever to my back
more distant than ever from its given history.
Already assembled, a map already traced out…
appalled by a past you’ll always be guilty of
among those who stumble in the inefficiency of the grudges of others
to those who emulate martyrs who would only have rejected
a justice so dreary, so simplified.
It’s there still among my symbols – the last chasm
to buck you up, to repair a fracture
too composed
to give you
another step.

The door behind
a dying affair
every interminable instance
when it all starts to tip over
‘I wish it was you who’d died’
When understanding evaporates into unease
shared projects derail in deception (x 2)

From the point where you are now, you don’t pull back
it’s retaliation for how far you’ve climbed
to reach a peak of truce
faced with the inability to face yourself
From the point where you are now, you don’t pull back
happiness never comes through someone else

Replying in tears
because in you she sees
only more spectral shades
She skirts around you
because now every act
resonates like a forced gesture

You decided to stay together
but that doesn’t include hearing you talk.
It’s not even worth showing off what you screw
You’re two weighted ballasts sinking deep...

You don’t have a life anymore
she’s crushed it
and maybe soon enough
she will crush it even more
to get away from you
You don’t have a life anymore
and you can’t imagine
how cold it’ll be there
because you’ll never get out.

The door behind
reveals blurred personalities
involuted to temporary host bodies
nothing is the way it was at the beginning
you’re just better at shutting each other out.

A moment like any other
from subjugated to passive
where how you feel doesn’t count
only the taste of being followed.
Another bottle without messages
in a river of despair
sinks and doesn’t ask who pushed it so far

You’ll be a big player
but always blackmailed ...
for a directed signal
instinct is superfluous
someone goes ahead, with or without you.

Forced closure
some don’t perceive the weight of compromise
some have no ideas except quotes
some only speak up in reply
Forced closure
when you stand up and have nothing to create
you find no gap between lucidity and anaemia
adrift on a sedentary parallel...
Can’t you see who’s happy to have driven you to this
don’t you know that demotivated means harmless.

It can be OK if you accept
an external prison where you’re within everyone’s reach,
and even the last loser has a say
to stone you or to smooth the way to your despair.
It can go OK if you take for granted
that anyone can take a piece of you...

You don’t need to think about it now,
just die without understanding why.

One moment like any another
in depersonalization
downcast or enthusiastic
you’ll always be restricted...

Stranger,
outside my borders
any value I may respect
a bottomless cesspit on a frame of deceit
and the squalor of your ego emerges from it
Dominates
on non-existent qualities
from a cliff of well-hidden miseries
where only who progresses trampling blindly
attracts...

Stranger,
you're not worth a fuck
not even a potential enemy...
this isn't where the better salesman gets the upper hand,
they can't resist the set-up.

Stranger,
Born in a country where you never set foot.

Stranger.

As much use as the blandest medication
in the face of pandemic attack
your determination cracks at the first rattle
because you never had roots
always disentangling by clinging
to an even weaker counterpart.

Born in a country where you never set foot.

Pretexts from the commonplace, social visibility,
aggregation strategies … here there are no mitigations
to stop me from dreaming every detail of your death
hoping someone will tear your family apart
one by one, starting with the smallest.

It’s an aching ritual
words pasted from other people’s lives
what you’ve chosen to tell the world
to celebrate what you’ll never be

Talent dies then
the best of the person you’ve lost
in the urgency of another comment
to a bigger number of agrees
derived from faded blood
that never forged opinions
offspring of disconnected abortions...

I watch you, we pass through each other
you’re already elsewhere in mid-reply, we pass through each other
you choose topics, but you can’t stick with them
I wonder how much self esteem you picked up in the sewer that spat you out
how much you realize you’re at the margins of the superfluous,
if you suffer when there’s no window where you can proclaim
over and over your monotonous loss of impulses... (x 2)

INSIDE EVERY COPIED ROUTE
SOME HAVE LOST, AND SOME HAVE ALWAYS PLAYED SMART

How long is it since you realized you’re not moving,
getting along only with their additive
snoozing in dictated stimuli

Impact of nerves
that never lets up
eating away inside me
but highlighting what you are
a glass window after years of ice
you never know what day it can collapse
nor how deeply it can scar...
From here no memory is clear or free of suffering
in counterphase against the pace of your indolence,
not accepting the quiet of someone who has always run inside tension
with no values except repercussion.

I react to the bitter end against the dead times of prejudice
I react to the bitter end, I persecute.

These are my nerves
and I’ll never change them
a game cut to two moves
attack or avoid
but let it go today
it's just getting trampled on
I’ll go back to the last sequence
I’ll face up to you.

[NEUTRAL LOOK]
One more time
you let someone else decide
falling into the same patterns
body inert
words for effect
followed by tormented laughter
that’s all.

In the usual photo next to the big shot
you’re the faded outsider
all for show – never yourself
you have no intent or roots
you may have dug out a rut

You dissolve in inconsistency
cultivate passions you can’t believe in
exhausted by addictions never resolved.
Some people forget about your rebound sympathy
put to the test with the impact of time
you count about as much as unsorted garbage

You looked behind a curtain
that for those like you shouldn’t have existed
and you preferred to stay hibernated.

One more time
let someone else worry about it
fall back on the next trend
eyes neutral
mocked by your defeats.

- THE PAGE THAT SUPPRESSES
Supported by the crimes they drew in the mist.

- SOVEREIGN PRETENCE
The root of a public theft hinged on slowness
confused with the spontaneity of hopeless submission.

- IMPERSONAL TIES
Individual strangulation techniques.

- CLEARING OUT THE WOUNDED
From the most devious plots of winter
thrown wide open to the logic driving them.

- MEN NOT NEWS OF COMPASSION
Burned alive with a blowtorch as punishment for that melancholy cut.

- THE TASTE OF TIMES GONE BY
Talking about it, in addictions,
in grasping paradoxes and putting them back in line.
The taste of times gones by explains how much fantasy
has flowed out of those born after the dice are cast.

- PERIPHERAL
Outline the instant of separation
undermining the responsibilities of role.

- LEARN TO DIE
Aesthetics of concentration – heroes of depression
learn to die without character.
- PERCEIVE EVERY EXPEDIENT
Copy and paste of satisfied features
on a bloody shroud of despair.

- REDUCED-PEOPLE-LARVAE
When the usual urgency to speak out
couples with what no longer gets to your heart.

Faced with your limits
in the dark you welcome
a silent evil
that devours from within
and it’s already irreversible
if the first streak of blood
coagulates in fear.
You don’t understand it
you give room to the keeper
who has always stopped you...
Solitude in the mirror
spotlights what you are.

The dose you tolerate every day
means staying in control
not looking at the enemy in the eye
crawling behind him like a humiliated servant.

If you get defensive any mistake looms over you,
altering presences that have never listened to you
habits that diminish your time...
When what you ingest is altered in poison
it’s you who gives the direction to the razor that you hold
and decide the hue of dreams awaiting you.

I want to teach you to shout
at the same wall, until you drop,
until what once came back to us
passes the barriers that darken the sky.
Shouting at the same wall
until the scream no longer comes back.

[If you no longer have a child alive
but you wait up until the last tendon shatters]
How much can you rouse yourself
in an abyss that sinks all hope
starting from the furthest rubble…
what can you spot with all the deafening noise
Look what happened to those afraid to die
always undecided, always dissatisfied
take it as an example, cast from the wrong side of the road

They’re dreams you embraced
but you can’t go back
because you’ll never see them again... (x2)
Just the memory of how much we can build
takes us back forever to the line of attack
it’s called immortality backwards
here will is anchored to foundations
and the first step is never to burn for someone else.

There’s a place where we’ll meet again to talk about what has hit us so hard
the weight of external factors or maybe the decline of our weak points
is the place where we’ll face endlessly as friends tempered by death
[stay with me]
here where the air grasps every moment
[in the inner sea]
of what we know how to transmit
[stay with me]
here where the waves defy the rock
with the determination of when we used to beat down every glance

STAY WITH ME
IN THE INNER SEA

If you cross at night
every surging wave echoes the power of our rage
against who takes life as it comes
who falls back on appearances
Guiding spirits, never beaten characters
guiding spirits, never defeated
guiding spirits razing reconquered lands to the ground.